


Homecoming

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Terrorcons meet someone bigger and scarier than themselves.</p><p>Contains: crack, fluff, references to cannibalism and violence.</p><p>For ink_in_hand</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ma-Grrr is one of those very minor characters mentioned by canon, but not really fleshed out at all.

Blot quivered in the shadow of the leviathan. A talon the length of his body tapped the ground uncomfortably close to his face before a tail wrapped twice around his entire team, its coils a barrier he knew he wouldn't be able to cross. 

Wings stretched to cover the stars, then folded in with a gust of air that got right under his plating. A serpentine neck bowed, a thousand red-gold scales gleaming in the cold light. 

Blot tried to lock his knees and stop his seams from oozing; Hun-Grrr said he mustn't cower. But the thing was going to eat them! Rippersnapper nudged him in the side, and shot a sharp 'Don't get any closer' over his internal comm. Cutthroat and Sinnertwin edged minutely away.

The massive head swung down, flaming eyes regarding them one by one. Nostrils flared, and a long metallic tongue flicked out to taste the air. 

Even in alt, Hun-Grrr looked so small standing at the apex of their group, his two heads straining up. One of his heads was still chewing, and Blot didn't know how he could think of food at a time like this. The tongue whipped around to lick the cheek of Hun-Grrr's other head. Blot's knees gave in; they were totally lunch.

But instead of eating them, the leviathan spoke. "What's this you've brought home then?"

"Team," Hun-Grrr said through his full mouth. The creature's eyes narrowed, and he continued through his empty one. "Terrorcons," he announced, flicking his tail at them, "meet my creator. Ma, these are the Terrorcons. You got any food?"


	2. Chapter 2

Blot crouched at the rear of his team. His short neck ached from constantly looking up, but up was the only place to look with Hun-Grrr's creator around. Scrap, she was big. Standing on four legs with her wings folded to her back, she was barely taller than Abominus, but so much longer. Her red-gold armour shimmered, a complex puzzle of scales and segments, each piece overlapping, each movement affecting everything else. 

She was queen of this world. The natives kept their distance, or fell to their knees until she passed. They themselves were large, an organic race partly cyberformed whose augmentations gleamed in the starlight, and whose skin was a mottled collection of greens. They were few, and the more Blot looked, the more he noticed that most of the buildings stood empty, the battle-damage old. 

"This way, boys," Ma told them, her head vanishing around a corner. It took Blot a moment to catch up, and when he did he had to stop and stare. Whatever this was, it was Cybertronian, like someone had taken the heart of Kalis and transported it to this weird alien world to sit amid the ruins. 

"You did the place up nice," Hun-Grrr commented. His creator nodded to him, and nosed open the main door. 

A gastronomically promising smell wafted on the breeze, prompting a demonstration of Terrorcon synchronised sniff-and-sigh. 

"Smells great," Hun-Grrr said. "What are we having?"

"Wait and see," his creator said. "You all need to wash up first."

Blot waited for a pointed look to come his way, some comment about how he needed to wash up more than the rest, but it didn't. Instead, Ma led them through a building yard to a second gate, and into a large open plaza. A crack in the ground spewed oil, warm and thick. A bath you could drink? Blot's tail swayed; as soon as she gave the word, he was in there. 

She nuzzled Hun-Grrr, almost knocking him over. "Go on." But when Blot bounded over to follow them, something clamped onto the back of his neck and the ground fell away. "Not you," she said. "I've got something special for you."

Special? Like punishment special? Blot curled in her grip and tried to hide his face under his hands. "Sorry," he squeaked.

"Don't be," she said. "We can't help how we're built." 

So she'd noticed. Everyone noticed sooner or later. But at least she hadn't dropped him, and she hadn't locked him in a cage and flown away like Sixshot sometimes did. 

He heard liquid flow and felt steam rise to hit his hindquarters. Smelled like solvent. He strained around, but couldn't quite see. 

"There you go." Ma lowered him into a high-sided tub. He shivered with the change in temperature, so warm he felt weirdly chilled. Then he sighed as the heat oozed into him. Ma looked at him, the only thing he could see over the sides of the tub. "Awww, ain't you just the bittiest little thing? Now hold still." 

Blot was used to people assuming he didn't know how to clean himself. And he was used to people taking matters into their own hands, or paying other people to do the same. But he wasn't used to being cooed at, or smiled at, or scrubbed to within an inch of a relaxed and happy recharge by someone who didn't seem to find him disgusting. 

He kept an ear out for his team, splashing and snarling in the oil, and let Ma do whatever she wanted. He could get used to this.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first three courses there was no talking.

'Can't talk; eating' was a tried and tested Terrorcon tactic. The less they said, the more they could focus on taste and texture and smell, and the entertaining screams and pleas for mercy. It didn't come into play for snacks; Hun-Grr would have taken a vow of silence if that was the case. But for meals, especially multi-stage, complex and important meals like this, the policy was strictly vocalisers off.

It seemed to amuse their host. Ma-Grrr refilled their plates at the plaintive widening of cyber-puppy optics and enthusiastic nodding. She ate with them, remaining - like them - in alt. At least, Blot thought that her draconic leviathan form was her alt. 

The fourth course was onigiri with grilled Nebulan and something hot and spicy Blot didn't recognise. The fifth was a palette cleanser, cold and refreshing. The sixth was stew, and Blot had never been happier to see a garnish topped off with an Autobot insignia. 

Full to contentment, Blot didn't stop to wonder how many courses there were. He had the capacity, and if he didn't - and there had been in his life only three times he couldn't finish a meal - then Sinnertwin and Hun-Grr would claim the spoils. 

The seventh course was another palette cleanser. Blot rolled against Ma's long tail, and licked the sorbet from his teeth. 

"Dessert," Ma announced, and Blot bounced upright, landing on his haunches at the polished granite slab that served them as a table. 

The team bond echoed with no small amount of excitement, but also a hint of disappointment. Dessert was always so bittersweet; the high point of any meal, but also a herald of the end. 

Blot stretched and inhaled. Infectious as a yawn, it travelled through the team as the others followed suit. Blot's native smells were still hidden under a fine and impermeable layer of whatever wax Ma-Grrr had rolled him in after his bath, and there were no annoyed glances or threatening snaps his way. 

For once, Blot didn't ruin dinner. 

It was a sad truth that all good things came to an end. Even perfect things like this. But as he drew in the promising scents of chocolate and spices and sweet things he didn't even have a name for, Blot caught a hint of biscuits and fruits and cheeses, and his spark swelled in hope. Maybe dessert wasn't the end.


	4. Chapter 4

The Terrorcons sprawled warm and comfortable in the courtyard of Ma-Grrr's home on Pauoris III. Blot wouldn't have described himself as replete, but only because his vocabulary didn't stretch that far. Unlike his tanks, which had entered expansion mode, additional capacity having been temporarily created simply for the purpose of portioning off excess fuel until his body had time to deal with it. 

"That," Sinnertwin commented, "was amazing."

Hun-Grrr nodded one of his heads, while the other chewed slowly on a strip of leathery jerky. For a change, he was taking his time. 

"You never told me how you boys met," Ma said. She curled around them and lay her chin on her hands. 

Blot arched his back, bringing his head back so he could look at her; rolling onto his belly was not currently an option. He opened his mouth to answer, but managed to keep a hold on his vocal processors. 

"It's a long story," Hun-Grrr said. He got up, stretching his necks, and padded a tight circle on the flagstones before settling back down. "We might need refreshment."

His creator laughed and flicked him with the tip of her tail. "I can smell new metal," she said. "You've had an upgrade since last you stopped by."

Hun-Grrr nodded. "It's gestalt tech," he said. "We combine."

"Really?" Ma's wide mouth picked up at the corners, and she gave Blot a gentle prod with a foreclaw; he giggled. "If you weren't all so full, I'd want a demonstration."

"We form Abominus," Cutthroat said in a sleepy voice. Like Blot he lay on his back. He raised a wing for emphasis, then let it drop. "He's big."

"Not as big as you," Blot said, and knew the moment Rippernsapper's head turned his way that he'd be teased from here to Cybertron and back for the reverence in his voice. 

"Well you just get sweeter, don't you?" Ma said. "Who gave you the upgrade?"

Sinnertwin answered before Hun-Grrr's empty mouth could open. "Some guy on Cybertron," he said. "He liked my fighting style."

Hun-Grr rolled his optics. "It was Shockwave," he said. "You remember him, Ma?"

"The little gun with the uranium?" Ma said. "Yes, I remember him. Whatever happened to him?"

"He's dead," Cutthroat said. 

Rippersnapper snickered. "Unicron sat on him."

"Unicron _fell_ on him," Sinnertwin said. "I heard it from Divebomb who heard it from Brawl. The Combaticons found him all squished and cut up and stuff."

"Such a shame," Ma said. "They don't make patriots like that any more. Is Megatron put out?"

"He's dead too," Hun-Grrr replied. "We've got Galvatron now."

"He's fun," Cutthroat said. "He lets us eat what we kill."

"Good," Ma stated. "When I built Hun-Grrr, the energon shortages were just beginning. I designed him so he could process anything, and he'd never need to go hungry."

"Shockwave gave that to us!" Blot said. 

Ma laughed. "So I see. He always was good at reverse engineering. But Hun-Grrr, you still haven't told me how you all met."

Her creation shrugged, as though it was no big deal, but Blot shuddered at the warning that filled the team bond. Hun-Grrr lay his heads down. "It's kinda boring," he said. "A long boring story you don't wanna know. Hey look, an asteroid!"

"Now you're changing the subject," Ma said. She prodded Blot again, rocking him gently with her claw. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me how you met my creation."

Blot looked from one Grr to the other. "Maybe?" he squeaked. 

"I'll tell you," Sinnertwin said brightly, the eyes of both heads fixed on Ma. "It's kinda weird, but we were all in the-"

"Prison!" Hun-Grr snapped. "We met in prison, OK?"

"I know a lie when I hear one," Ma said. "Sinnertwin, sweetie, keep going."

"Uh... OK." Sinnertwin gave his leader a guilty look. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "We met in a scrapyard," he said, and flinched at the widening of Ma's vast optics. "We were starving, we didn't know where else to go. We couldn't... The rest of us couldn't eat like Hun-Grrr did."

"How did you end up in a scrapyard?" Ma said. 

Hun-Grr sighed. "I got hungry," he said. "I was damaged."

"You could have called me."

"It wasn't worth the risk." Hun-Grrr looked up, and a new warning emerged through the bond, a warning that should tonight's conversation become the gossip of any Decepticon rec room, Ma-Grrr's home cooking would be off limits for the rest of eternity. "They didn't know you were still alive," he continued. "You're a legend, Ma. Development Techs used to tell stories about you to make the new-builds behave. Starscream was gonna send out an expedition to find you, but Megatron shot it down as a lost cause. Even Shockwave thought you were dead."

Ma's nostrils flared. "And the rest of you?" she said. 

"Pit fight went wrong," Sinnertwin said. "Don't know how long I was there. Just know it was a long time."

Cutthroat yawned. "Failed execution," he said. "They tried to do it quick, and clear out before the 'cons came. But they couldn't shoot for scrap." He adjusted his wings, and Blot called up fragments of memory from their time as Abominus. Cutthroat lying bleeding on the side of the road, his throat torn, a single wire running from his head to his chest. No-one had moved him to the scrapyard; the scrapyard had expanded to swallow him. 

Rippersnapper snorted. "I was black ops," he said, "special missions, suicide squad. They didn't know I wasn't dead." 

Blot pulled his legs in tight. He was too full to roll over, so he flopped on his side. With any luck, Ma's kind gaze would sweep over him and back to Hun-Grrr and he wouldn't have to speak. 

He didn't have that kind of luck.

"And you?" she said. 

For a change his team was silent. Blot vented deep. "My creators didn't want me."

"They cut his cables," Sinnertwin said. "So he couldn't follow them home. Then they left him there."

Ma's optics narrowed, and her tail snaked out to wrap tightly around Blot. "I hope they died in fire and torment." 

"Kinda," Hun-Grrr said cheerfully. "We ate them."

This earnt him a nuzzle, and a pleased rumble of Ma-Grrr's powerful engine. "You're a good boy," she said. "It's nothing less than they deserved."

"Mmmm..." Hun-Grrr stretched out. "Talking of people getting what they deserve, is there any of that stew left?"


End file.
